


chase your shadow

by peggycarterisacat



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff, Joanna lives, M/M, Non-Linear Narrative, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slightly - Freeform, Stag Nights & Bachelor Parties, Wedding Planning, and the Lannister family dynamics are slightly healthier, partially inspired by the hangover, some fake dating
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-20
Updated: 2018-05-20
Packaged: 2019-05-09 07:11:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14711480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peggycarterisacat/pseuds/peggycarterisacat
Summary: When Jaime agreed to help Cersei and Rhaegar rescue their wedding from their fathers' interference, he wasn't expecting to have fun with it.





	chase your shadow

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by/dedicated to my dear friends who planned a very large gay wedding in the rural midwest just after it was legalized. I soooo hope it is easier these days. 
> 
> title is from Bring Night by Sia.

"My savior," Arthur murmured, his voice deep and husky, as Jaime dragged him off to the dance floor. Away from Rhaegar's friend with the tray of tequila shots.

If they stayed near enough to the edge, they could still keep an eye on Rhaegar. Or at least that had been Jaime's intention. Now Arthur was the only one Jaime saw — his body and his hands all that Jaime felt as they bumped through clusters of people. Arthur's hands were always on him, snagged around his waist, resting on his chest, stirring something alight just under his skin.

He liked it when Arthur touched him — he'd figured that one out a couple weeks ago. It was a friendly thing, he kept telling himself. Jaime was only reacting to it because he rarely touched anyone at all. Arthur certainly wasn't making a big deal of it — he touched Jaime as if it was second nature to sling an arm around his shoulders, to rest his hand on Jaime's hip or the small of his back when they passed close to each other, to bump their shoulders together when they sat side by side or touch his knee to get his attention.

He wondered what  _ more _ would be like. More touch, more skin. To trace his fingers over the lines in Arthur's palms and wonder at the meanings, to unbutton and kiss his way down Arthur's chest, to go to bed together and learn the noises he could coax forward.

Heat bloomed up through his throat into his cheeks, and it wasn't just the humidity of the room.

Jaime was no longer completely convinced that Arthur couldn't feel anything for him — there was a shade of  _ maybe _ lurking around the edges.  _ Maybe _ it was the alcohol, but Arthur's hands, the way he grew a little clumsier, coming closer as they drank throughout the day, and now as the night wore on— the brush of Arthur's lips against his ear when he leaned in to be heard over the music _ — maybe _ it was something more. Whatever it was, it made his head spin and his chest swell with heat. He was all light and fluttery inside and his face felt kind of… tingly? Was he that drunk?

He touched his nose. Nope, not that drunk, which meant—

This wasn't anything for him to get worked up over, he told himself. Arthur was casual in his touch, and Jaime wasn't the only one he was affectionate with. Rhaegar, but they were best friends. The redhead whose name Jaime couldn't quite remember, but that seemed like an old friendship, too. And even the guys at the bachelor party who Arthur didn't seem particularly close to got bro-hugs or hands on shoulders.

But Jaime was the one he touched most. Wishful thinking? Maybe. Could it mean something? Not necessarily. It was an act, a joke, or at least that was how it started. A way to suss out which vendors were homophobes as they helped Cersei and Rhaegar plan the wedding — something Jaime, at least, found very entertaining. He liked watching them squirm, unsure of what to say — let those bigoted douchecanoes be uncomfortable for once, rather than the people they tried to bully or intimidate or exclude.

It helped that Arthur could be incredibly intimidating when he wanted to be.

He was intimidating in a different way now, without even trying. Jaime's heart sped up as he looked over at Arthur again. The light washed over him, vibrant colors spinning in dappled patterns, flashing through the shadows. Each glimpse of him after half a second of darkness was like seeing the sun rise over the mountains — he was smiling in a way Jaime had never seen before, and that buoyed him along with the music — there was nothing in the world he would rather see. He hadn't been completely certain before, but now he knew beyond doubt. Arthur was — what was the right word? Captivating? Beautiful? Were you supposed to think of a guy as beautiful? But Arthur used words like  _ heteronormativity _ and  _ fragile masculinity _ , so Jaime didn't think he'd really mind.

Would he mind  _ this, _ though? As Jaime reached out, his breath went light and shallow as he tensed for Arthur to reject him. But he didn't— when Jaime caught him by the hip, Arthur looked up and the swirling lights caught in his eye for just an instant, turning the color electric. Jaime watched, enthralled, as Arthur drew closer until their chests almost bumped together— they had been so close all night, half a dozen moments where they were mere inches from pressing up against each other. He closed the distance, settling the ache in his chest, and Arthur looked up at him. Their faces were so close, and it would be so easy to just lean in and kiss him.

Was it the beat of the bass thrumming alongside his heart, or was the thrill just from the feel of Arthur against him? Was it Arthur's pulse speeding against his fingertips, or was it his own? The light glinted in Arthur's eyes again, but Jaime's gaze lingered on his mouth — he felt rather than saw Arthur's hand slip over his cheek and catch behind his head.

For a split second before he moved, Arthur bit his lip, thinking — then an eternity passed under the slow motion of strobe lights before Arthur's mouth was on his.

There was enough time for dozens of thoughts and scenarios to reel through Jaime's mind, but nothing could have prepared him for this. Still, he wasn't one to let an opportunity slip by, and he met Arthur with equal intensity. It didn't feel real — too good to be real.

He looped an arm around Arthur's waist to hold him close  _ and _ to hold himself upright. Things like balance and functional knees had taken a backseat to Arthur's mouth, his hands, his body held close — his thumb stroking over the sensitive skin just behind Jaime's ear, the liquid fire running through his veins.

His hands found Arthur's ass without any conscious decision on his part — when he squeezed, Arthur gasped against him and Jaime pressed forward to explore with his tongue.

Arthur's mouth broke away, leaving Jaime panting, his head spinning—

"We're still in public, you know," Arthur murmured against his ear.

Jaime shivered — Arthur found the sensitive spot by his ear again and was running his tongue over it — "Then do you wanna get out of here?" he suggested breathlessly.

Arthur didn't get a chance to answer — a hand clapped down on each of their shoulders. "Called it!" Rhaegar's other friend crowed. Jaime couldn't remember his name for the life of him, but he was certain it was something generic. "I thought something was gonna happen tonight, Rhaegar thought tomorrow. Now get a room."

"I'd love to," Jaime said squeezing Arthur's ass again. How did this guy know enough to speculate, though? Today was the first Jaime had met him.

Arthur's breath deepened, and he leaned back into Jaime's hand just a little. "Seriously? The two of you had nothing better to talk about?" 

_ "Anything _ was better than talking about wedding planning," he scoffed.

For some reason, that made Arthur look a little sad. "That's fair," he said. "Is anyone keeping an eye on Rhaegar?"

"You're not his mother," the guy said, rolling his eyes. "He'll be fine unsupervised for five minutes."

Arthur sighed. "Let's go find him."

He linked hands with Jaime and tugged him along, meandering though the maze of people.

"See?" the other guy said, when the bar came into view. "He's just over there, being social. You can quit worrying." He was talking to people Jaime didn't recognize, but that didn't mean much of anything — he didn't know anyone here except Arthur and Rhaegar. "You can go if you want, I'll pass on excuses and make sure he doesn't pass out on a stranger's yacht again or anything."

"I think we should all stick together, actually," Arthur said. He looked up at Jaime and squeezed his hand. "The night's still young."

That didn't mean Jaime wasn't a little disappointed as they followed off towards Rhaegar. "You don't trust him?" he asked, leaving a kiss on Arthur's ear while he was close.

"I trust his intentions," Arthur murmured back, "but I spent way too much time in college stopping both of them from doing stupid things. It's a hard habit to break. The three of us used to live together, you know? Never a dull moment."

_ That _ clicked in Jaime's brain. "JonCon."

"Don't call him that to his face, he hates it."

"No, I won't, I just figured out that's the guy from all your stories."

"Just  _ now?" _

"Everyone's just been calling him Jon all day — do you have any idea how many guys I know named Jon? At least a dozen." 

Arthur laughed, and Jaime wanted nothing more than to keep making that happen, day after day, as long as forever. He pulled Arthur to a stop and kissed him again, careful to keep it brief. If he got carried away again, stopping would only be frustrating. But tonight wasn't about him, he reminded himself. Today was about Rhaegar, then tomorrow was the wedding, and maybe then he could convince Arthur to leave the reception a little early.

He was satisfied to see Arthur looked a little conflicted as he drew away. He chased Jaime's lips for another— "We're in public," Jaime teased. "And we have to make sure Rhaegar's not partying too hard."

Arthur grumbled about it a little bit, but continued on.

JonCon already found Rhaegar by the time Jaime and Arthur joined them. "Making new friends without us?" Arthur asked.

"Yeah, I've replaced all of you," Rhaegar said, his smile lopsided. "I was just about to come find you guys and realized I don't have enough hands," he said, sliding a glass to each of them. "You need to try these, they're really good."

"What's in it?" Arthur asked, swirling his glass. Jaime studied it dubiously. It was very blue.

"I don't know, but it's called an  _ adios, motherfucker," _ Rhaegar said. "That guy showed me—"

Jaime looked where he was pointing. "You mean the guy who's been fighting with his girlfriend ever since we got here?"

"Oh, has he been?" Rhaegar asked.

Jaime shrugged. He hadn't been paying super close attention — couldn't even remember what she'd looked like, except that she was upset and that guy had just ignored it.

"What are we drinking to?" JonCon asked.

"To love," Rhaegar decided, making Jaime very aware of Arthur next to him, his arm still hooked around his waist.

They clinked glasses and drank.

* * *

 

Jaime quickly caved when Cersei asked for his help with the wedding. He didn't  _ want _ to go around scouting venues and interviewing vendors, but he'd always had trouble saying no. Especially to Cersei, who was so rarely happy — getting a genuine smile out of her was like hitting gold.

He'd thought the wedding would make her happy, but Dad and Mr. Targaryen were turning it into their battleground — disagreeing over every single detail, no matter how trivial. Mom kept sending overly-cutesy ideas from Pinterest, and even Mrs. Targaryen, who always ignored conflict as if she could starve it to death by withholding attention, had voiced an opinion.

"She invited me to coffee just to tell me it'd be easier to let everyone else have their way," Cersei seethed.  _ "Easier." _

Even since they were children Cersei wasn't one to do anything just because it was easy. She always tried to get her way, never mind that their parents were as unyielding as granite. Mom always said parents shouldn't fight in front of their children, and it wasn't healthy if one or the other of them was always the bad guy — even though it was obvious it was Dad every single time.

Jaime had quickly learned it was easier to ask forgiveness than permission, but Cersei was more determined than that. But no matter how much she argued, it never worked.

This time, she decided it was the hill she would die on.

"This is my fucking wedding," she groused over a bottle of wine. "Help me take it back."

Jaime agreed. Cersei made lists and lists — vendors and venues to investigate, her requirements and questions to ask of each. While she and Rhaegar kept their fathers placated, Jaime and some friend of Rhaegar's would lay the groundwork for the real plans.

Someone was already waiting in the lobby at the first venue when Jaime arrived with minutes to spare. "Jaime, right?" he asked, extending his hand. "I'm Arthur — Rhaegar's best man."

"I'm not the maid of honor, I don't think," Jaime joked, juggling the hefty file folder into his other arm so they could shake hands. His life and Rhaegar's were more tangential than intersecting — he'd heard the name Arthur before, but had nothing else to put behind it.

At a glance, Jaime couldn't tell much. A firm handshake, his face pleasant but not quite smiling. Something about his demeanor struck him as the same heavy solemnity that always weighed Rhaegar down, and the little enthusiasm Jaime mustered up for the day deflated. He liked Rhaegar, even looked up to him, but he wasn't the sort of person you could joke around with. If Arthur was the same way, the afternoon would be excruciating.

"Is all of that…?" Arthur started to ask, eyeing the folder.

"Cersei's notes," Jaime confirmed, holding it up.

Arthur frowned. "Maybe we should've met earlier to go through all of that."

_ Oh god no. _ That would truly be excruciating. "I think we're good," Jaime said. "I know what she wants pretty well, and anyway I was going to take a video for her, too."

"If you're sure," he said, eyeing the folder. "Rhaegar's picky about, like, three things. I'm most worried about minimizing how much we piss off his family."

Well, he wasn't going to have a good time with this, was he? "No matter what we do, they're going to be pretty pissed off when they get the invitations." Because  _ that _ was how Cersei intended to unveil the drastic change in plans. Cersei claimed it was because she wanted no interference with her actual planning, but Jaime thought it was at least partially motivated by spite. Not that he could really blame her.

Rhaegar, though… Rhaegar didn't appear to have thought it through at all.

Arthur winced. "Yeah, that's gonna be a mess."

"I was thinking about going to visit my uncle that week," Jaime said, only half-joking. "He's on an archaeological dig in old Valyria, very isolated." Technically speaking, he'd funded the expedition, but saying that out loud sounded ridiculous.

If, hypothetically, Jaime felt like running away from his problems, he could get as far as Volantis easily. If he met up with Tyrion there, Uncle Gerry might feel amenable to picking them up — which he would have to do to bring them the rest of the way. Airports weren't exactly common in the ruins of Valyria, but Uncle Gerry had his own plane and, judging by his complaints, was becoming accustomed to whatever passed for a runway on one of those sites.

"Ms. Lannister?" The venue coordinator had come out of his office and was looking between the two of them uncertainly.

"Yeah?" Jaime said, momentarily enjoying the man's obvious discomfort.

"I'm sorry— we didn't know to be expecting—" the venue coordinator stuttered—

Jaime glanced over at Arthur, rolling his eyes, but Arthur looked the furthest thing from amused.

"Is there a problem?" he asked, glowering. His voice was soft, but that in no way diminished the presence of his words. A shiver raced over the surface of Jaime's skin, and the coordinator trembled like a pine tree in a windstorm.

He stammered, "We've just never—"

Jaime's thoughts started to evolve from amusement to impatience, and he wasn't 100% paying attention when Arthur's arm snaked around his waist, hand settling on his hip. "You've never what?" Arthur asked.

Jaime looked up sharply. Arthur was already squeezing his eyes shut as he finished speaking, cringing. Jaime almost laughed — it was no longer obvious who in the room felt the most awkward. But the other guy, still stumbling through excuses, might not have noticed — he was studiously avoiding eye contact.

"Never had— anyone like—" he cut himself off, mouth shutting with an almost audible snap. "I'm sorry, I need to call my manager. I'll be just a moment."

"What the fuck," Jaime whispered as he hurried back off to his office.

"I'm so sorry," Arthur said, taking his arm back. "I didn't even think, he was just pissing me off, I shouldn't have touched you—"

"Not what the fuck to you," Jaime said. That wasn't anywhere near the most important thing on his mind right now— "What the fuck does he need to call his manager about?"

"Whether or not gay people are gonna tarnish their stellar reputation," Arthur said, glaring off in the direction the coordinator had fled. "My sister got married a few months back, as soon as it was legalized, and she and her wife had to put up with so much of this shit."

"People still care that much?"

"If it doesn't affect you, you might not notice, but... Yeah."

Jaime hadn't really noticed, not lately. People said some truly awful things when he was a kid, but it was different now — or was it only sugar-coated enough that you might not notice unless you were accustomed to that particular flavor of shit?

"Well, that's shit— Vetoing this place, then? This guy's a dick, and your sister—" plural? Jaime wasn't sure how in-laws worked. Was he supposed to start calling Rhaegar his brother now? That just felt weird— "Your sisters shouldn't have to feel uncomfortable or anything — they're invited, right?" It was a pointless question. Half the city would probably end up invited, in the end.

Arthur nodded. "They're not the only ones, either. Should we go, then? Since we know we're not picking this one."

"We could," Jaime said. The coordinator was back now, walking towards them with about as much enthusiasm as a man marching into the fires of the seven hells — depending on his beliefs, that might actually be what he felt was happening. Not that it made him any less of a dick. "Or we can make this fucker as uncomfortable as we possibly can." He reached out to take Arthur's hand.

Arthur ducked his head, almost hiding the little smile teasing at the corners of his mouth.  _ That _ was a victory in itself, one that did strange things to Jaime's heart.

"That sounds like a wonderful idea, sweetheart."

* * *

 

The sliver of light Jaime glimpsed when he briefly opened his eyes scorched his retinas and stabbed back through his skull, painful enough to make him never want to know the sun again. He rolled onto his front and stuffed his head under the pillow. That should be enough to keep it out.

His entire body ached, his head throbbed, and his mouth tasted like death. But it was warm and soft in bed, and if he shut his eyes and pretended hard enough, maybe he could convince himself that he didn't exist. If he laid still, his agonized muscles wouldn't move and maybe he could will the pain away.

He'd almost managed it when something shifted next to him. The flinch that ran through his body jarred all the way up to his skull, bringing the pain he was ignoring back to the surface, along with a bonus headache. What was in bed with him — would it be worse to look, or not to?

Jaime raised his head blearily. The pillow rolled off him to the floor.

It was Arthur lying there, curled and tangled up in the sheets. His face was buried in the crook of his elbow but it was unmistakably him — his hair, his neck, his shirt a little tight across the shoulders. Glitter clinging to his exposed skin.

_ What _ had happened last night? Jaime looked down at himself. He was wearing clothes, but they weren't his — a faded t shirt from a charity 5K and flannel pajama pants covered in little purple stars. If they'd hooked up last night, Jaime didn't think getting dressed again would be high on his list of priorities. But changing at all after a night of drinking was unlike him — he usually couldn't be bothered to do much beyond worming out of restrictive clothing and crawling into bed.

Arthur wasn't like that, apparently, assuming this was even his... Apartment? Was this an apartment? Jaime couldn't tell just from looking around the room.

A tidy bedroom, neutral colors. A closet left ajar, and what looked like a bathroom beyond another door. A framed star chart hung above the dresser — their clothes from last night laid on top, neatly folded, but one of the drawers sat askew on the floor. Two empty water glasses on the nightstand, both their phones plugged in and charging side-by-side. Two bottles of Gatorade, one red, one blue, and a bottle of painkillers. "This your place?" Jaime asked, leaning over Arthur to grab the pills and the red bottle — he never wanted to drink anything blue again. 

"Probably," Arthur grumbled.  _ "Fuck _ , I'm not 25 anymore." Being 25 wasn't doing a lot for Jaime at the moment either, but he didn't mention it, washing down two ibuprofen with the taste of artificial red. Arthur lifted his arm off his face and, squinting, looked around the room. "Yeah, this is home."

"These yours, too?" Jaime asked, plucking at the shirt he was wearing.

"Yeah," Arthur said. His mouth fell open just a bit while his eyes scanned over Jaime, and when he shut it, his teeth worried at his lip.

"Cute," Jaime said, poking at the stars. He wasn't certain he was specifically talking about the stars. "You okay?"

"Yeah, just— you're here." Arthur looked away, busying himself with the pill bottle. "And I don't know how you feel about that. How much do you remember about last night?"

"Apparently not as much as I should."

Arthur squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed a hand over his face, deliberately slowly, leaving it covering his eyes. "Do you remember kissing me?"

Jaime nodded, but Arthur couldn't see him. He reached out and pulled Arthur's hand away from his face. He looked miserable. "Highlight of the night," Jaime said.

Immediately, Arthur's face brightened up. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," Jaime said back. He couldn't keep himself from smiling, a wide fool's grin.

"I feel so disgusting right now, but—" Arthur sat halfway up and kissed Jaime on his temple, his cheek, the tip of his nose.

"Same." Jaime traced his fingers around Arthur's ear and up into his hair — soft as if freshly clipped. His eyes fluttered shut and he ran his hands all the way up Jaime's arms before tugging him closer. Jaime fell over him, his forearms planted to either side of Arthur's face.

He must be glowing — Jaime's heart swelled with warmth to see Arthur in his arms. Mussed hair and a weary face, creased from the pillow, but he wore his little private smile. That one had grown to be Jaime's favorite, the kind that showed more in his eyes and cheeks than in his mouth. Simple contentment, not the need to exaggerate his expressions for anyone else's benefit.

Jaime dipped his head to plant a kiss just between his eyebrows, and Arthur tugged at him again, settling Jaime onto his chest with a sigh. His hands found Jaime's again, idly tracing the lines in his palms, twining their fingers together. He could so easily crawl up and kiss Arthur breathless, press him into the mattress, get his hands on bare skin.  _ Later, _ he thought. Now everything was warm and soft and soothing, Arthur's heart thrummed against his cheek, and he could just relax. Enjoy this.

"Did anything else happen last night?" he wondered.

"I don't think so." Arthur's hands stilled against Jaime's as he thought. "I remember bits and pieces of getting back here. Changing." His hands started to move again, stroking through Jaime's hair this time. "You tried to strip for me, it was really cute."

_ "Cute?"  _ Jaime gasped, trying to sound offended. It only made his head hurt. "Wait,  _ tried?" _

Arthur's chest shook with silent laughter. "Your balance was gone by that point — you know those big, inflatable wavy arm things they have in used car lots? It was kinda like that," he said. He traced circles over Jaime's cheeks with his fingertips. "And you were laughing, and it was adorable."

"I'm really hurt that you would compare me to anything in a used car lot." But Jaime didn't mean it, and he couldn't stop smiling.

"I'm very sorry," Arthur said. He didn't look sorry at all. "How can I make it up to you?" He brought one arm down, skimming his hand over the exposed skin where Jaime's shirt had slipped up, and took him by the hip.

Jaime sighed, stopping himself rolling his hips forward against Arthur — why? What did he care about looking too eager? When he opened his eyes — he couldn't recall closing them — Arthur's lips had a decidedly satisfied tilt.

"If you're gonna criticize how I strip, you have to show me how to do it right," he said, a little breathlessly.

"Gladly," Arthur said, his voice a note lower than it normally was. This time Jaime squirmed in his grip, unable to resist rolling his hips against him. Arthur groaned, deep in his throat, and squeezed Jaime's ass — "Sometime when I don't feel like I just crawled out of a gutter, though."

That was fair. "Sparkly gutter," Jaime said, touching the specks of glitter still clinging to Arthur's face.

"Fucking hell," Arthur grumbled. "I'm never going to get these sheets clean, am I?"

"Probably not. Why—" he yawned— "why glitter?"

"No idea."

He buried his face in Arthur's chest and tried to think back. "The last thing I remember is Rhaegar making us drink something blue?"

"I should've learned years ago not to drink anything he gives me."

"He makes a habit of this?"

"Not exactly. He just has questionable taste sometimes, and when he improvises..." He cringed. "I told you about the tequila sunrises?"

"You had a few things to say about those, yes."

"The texture was just awful— and that's something you should never have to say about a  _ drink." _

Jaime laughed — he'd heard this before — and whined as his head throbbed again. "Don't make me laugh, it hurts."

"Sorry." His hands stroked through Jaime's hair — it didn't make him feel better, exactly, but it distracted from the pain. He made a pleased hum and settled more firmly onto Arthur, concentrating on the rhythm of his breath, the sound of his heartbeat. His fingers were growing sluggish as Jaime remembered—

"Rhaegar had more than one of them. The blue things."

Arthur grumbled out a curse. "I told you he can't really taste alcohol. Especially once it's mixed."

"You think he's okay?"

"He's at JonCon's, he'll be fine. But I'll text him just to be sure." He stretched, gently rolled Jaime off of him, and turned to grab his phone off the nightstand. His T-shirt rode up as he moved, exposing more skin, and Jaime laid back, appreciating the view.

Arthur  _ must _ have noticed — he stretched more than necessary as he laid back down, phone in hand, making his shirt inch just a bit higher. When Jaime dragged his eyes back up to Arthur's face, he looked unbearably smug. But Jaime discovered he could, in fact, bear it, especially when Arthur finished his text and set the phone aside, then guided Jaime's hand into his shirt as they cuddled up together again. He explored Arthur by touch, without any real intention, and found a comfortable spot at his back for his hand to rest.

"That feels really nice," Arthur sighed against Jaime's shoulder, kissing him on the collarbone. "Don't know about you, but it's still early and I don't want to be awake for a while."

"I could be down with that," Jaime murmured. He hooked a foot around Arthur's ankle and pulled him closer, and as they drifted away to sleep again he felt, for the first time in years, truly at peace.

* * *

 

"The wedding industry is so heteronormative," Arthur said pointedly. Jaime's arm was wrapped around his shoulders; his hand was tucked into Jaime's back pocket. "Everywhere, I swear— there's a spot on the form for the bride, and one for the groom..."

"So, given the option, you made  _ me _ the bride?" Jaime asked. "What does  _ that _ say about our relationship?"

The coordinator, now explaining the many different ways tables could be arranged in this room, looked as if his mind had just constructed an image he would never be able to unsee.

"It doesn't mean anything except that your name sounds more unisex," Arthur said. "Ms. Arthur Dayne?" He shook his head. "Ms. Jaime Lannister?" He shrugged— "Possibly. We can do it the other way around next time, if you want."

"No, you're right. It's funnier this way. Give 'em a little surprise." He grinned down at Arthur. The coordinator wasn't even looking at them now — slightly to the left instead. "I'll be your bride a little longer."

"If that's what makes you happy, love. Just— you know what my sister always says."

Jaime didn't even know his sister's name. "Which thing she says, exactly?"

"You know, whenever someone asks who's the man in their relationship," he said casually. "'The entire  _ point _ of being a lesbian is that there's no man. Anyone asking just wants to know who wears the strap-on.'"

Jaime's impression of Arthur as solemn and humorless evaporated. The coordinator's face turned an ugly shade of purple, and Jaime almost choked on his own tongue trying to keep from cackling at the sight. "Oh yeah, I've definitely heard her say that," he said, not succeeding in keeping a straight face. "Don't know how I could've forgotten."

Arthur was way better at keeping his composure. "It's a very memorable phrase. Anyway, I had a point— if I wanted a bride, I wouldn't be marrying you." He squeezed Jaime against his side for half a second. "You're everything I've ever wanted, and I never want you to doubt that."

Jaime's heart jumped — he hadn't known it could do that. "How could I ever doubt you, pumpkin?"

The coordinator quickly escorted them out.

* * *

 

Arthur rolled over, stirring Jaime awake, and dug through the covers for his buzzing phone. Groaning, Jaime caught Arthur's waist before he moved too far away and latched on again.

"H'lo?" Arthur grumbled into the phone. His free hand stroked through Jaime's hair — his head felt much better now, but that didn't mean he wanted to be  _ awake.  _ He snuggled up against Arthur and shut his eyes again — there, that was better. Warm, soft bed, fluffy blanket, Arthur firmly in his arms.

"I dunno, I thought he was with you," Arthur was saying. "Have you called anyone else?" He had a very nice voice. It sounded different when Jaime had his ear pressed against his chest, feeling the resonance as much as he heard the tones. "If it's not going through that just means his phone died, he forgets about it all the time—" A pause. "He might have gone with someone else, or home instead." Arthur listened for a moment. "Right, maybe his parents' then? Look— come over. We'll start calling around, and if we haven't found anything by then—  _ Yes, _ by we I mean Jaime stayed over." He sighed, exasperated, as he listened. "Appreciate the sentiment. We'll see you soon."

"Who was that?" Jaime asked groggily as Arthur ended the call.

"JonCon. Rhaegar was supposed to stay at his place last night, but he's not there." He arched his back, stretching. "I'm not too worried. He probably ended up with one of the other guys, he kind of wanders sometimes but never goes far."

"What does 'wanders' mean, exactly?"

Arthur thought a moment. "I told you he's been in kind of a weird mood lately. It happens every so often. He gets... creative, I guess, and doesn't think things through very well. You know, life's an adventure, everything in the universe is connected on a spiritual level, and I'm usually the killjoy who tells him that base jumping is a bad idea, or he shouldn't go exploring outside without a coat in the middle of winter."

"I've never seen him get like that before."

"I think I might be the only person who's noticed. Maybe Cersei or JonCon have, too." Arthur shrugged. "Mostly he's just more social or energetic for a couple weeks here and there. Nothing that seems too weird."

"Right." Jaime curled his body tighter around Arthur and yawned.

Arthur patted his head. "JonCon's on his way, and we should get moving."

"Nooo," Jaime complained as Arthur pulled the covers away and tried to get out of bed.

"I need to brush my teeth, I'm grossing myself out," Arthur said, gently untangling himself from Jaime's limbs.

He laid there a moment, debating the pros and cons of moving. His mouth was pretty gross, too — "You've got a toothbrush in here already if you feel like getting up," Arthur called.

"A toothbrush, already?" Jaime arched his back and stretched. "Didn't realize we were that serious."

Arthur stuck his head through the bathroom door. "Alcohol is seriously bad for your teeth," he deadpanned. "Hasn't anyone mentioned it? JonCon's been giving me shit since we were in college and people would crash on our couch — I guess I always make everyone brush their teeth? Or so he claims."

"So I'm not special?" Jaime asked, miming being stabbed in the heart.

"You are," Arthur reassured, even though Jaime wasn't being remotely serious. "Just not where toothbrushes are concerned."

By the time Jaime peeled himself out of bed, Arthur was already in the shower, steam just beginning to fill the room. There was indeed an extra toothbrush, balanced on the lip of the sink as Jaime always left his.

Just brushing his teeth reduced the grossness factor by a lot, and the mint started to wake him up. When he went to rinse his mouth out, cupping the water in his hands, he noticed there was a glass on the counter, two more toothbrushes standing inside. He paused, water dripping down his face. Had someone else stayed over recently?

Probably one of his sisters, Jaime told himself. That was all. Hopefully.

He put a little extra concentration into drying off his face as Arthur came out of the shower, not really wanting to be caught looking.

"I'm not going to burst into flame if you look at me, you know."

Somehow that was as embarrassing as if he  _ had _ been caught looking. He glanced up at Arthur, still with stray droplets clinging to his skin. After he finishing toweling off, he stepped forward and put his hands on Jaime — hot even through the worn fabric of his shirt.

"I like it when you look at me," Arthur said, running his hands up under the shirt. Jaime let him slip it off over his head, and with another step forward he had Jaime pressed against the wall, trailing open-mouthed kisses up his throat, then along his jawline.

Jaime caught him by the chin to halt his progress and stole a kiss of his own instead, finally capturing Arthur's mouth. It felt sweeter than the night before — no alcohol to blur the sensations. The weight of Arthur against his chest, sinking deeper against him, trapping him nicely up against the wall — Arthur's hands leaving trails of heat behind as they roamed over Jaime's chest. He sucked at Arthur's lower lip, testing with his teeth just a little — these possibilities were only a few hours old and he was eager to learn everything Arthur liked — and was rewarded by a gasp, a moan.

Arthur's hand dropped down to Jaime's thigh and squeezed — Jaime's cock stirred to life as he groped his way upwards, his pulse sped against Arthur's mouth as he sucked there, and then Arthur brought his lips to Jaime's ear and asked—

"Breakfast?"

Jaime groaned. "Are you  _ trying _ to frustrate me?"

"Why would I do that?" But a glint in Arthur's eye gave away that yes, that was exactly what he was trying to do. "Come over again tonight, and I promise I'll make it up to you."

Jaime tugged him forward by the hips, making their bodies land together again. "How?"

"However you want," Arthur murmured, sparking a shiver that ran up Jaime's spine. "Think about it." He gave Jaime a last, quick kiss — "I'll grab you some clean clothes while you're in the shower, then get started on breakfast. And coffee — anything you want?"

"Not breakfast." Jaime trailed his fingers over Arthur's abs.

"We actually have to do things today," Arthur said, not really succeeding at sounding stern. "There's a wedding, in case you've forgotten, and JonCon will be here soon."

"What wedding?" Jaime asked.

Arthur laughed. "Go shower," he instructed, pushing Jaime in that direction. "I need to put clothes on, I'm cold."

The first blast of water that hit Jaime's hand when he tested the temperature was scalding hot. "How do you still have skin?" he yelled as he hurriedly tried to figure out which way the knobs worked. Trying to use someone else's shower never failed to make him feel like an idiot.

"What?" Arthur said, coming back from the other room. He hadn't quite found a shirt of his own yet, but he set some folded clothing by the sink and dramatically unfurled something. "This yours?"

It was a dress — black, form-fitting, with the fabric gathered in a style Cersei hated. He didn't recognize it.

"I don't think I've worn a dress since middle school," he said. "Where'd it come from?"

"You mean Cersei didn't ask you to try on wedding dresses, too?" Arthur joked. Well. Jaime probably could've, maybe not physically tried them on, but weeded out the ones she'd hate. "No idea, it was folded up with our clothes. Looks like Allyria's size — she probably left it here and it got mixed in when I fucked up the dresser drawer last night." 

That probably explained the toothbrush too, then. "Did you seriously fold everything when we got in?"

"Don't you start on that, too."

Jaime grinned. "What else—"

"I'm gonna make breakfast," Arthur said loudly, retreating.

Jaime watched him go — he put on a thermal shirt before leaving his room, even though it was barely cold at all — and tested the water again. It was a tolerable temperature, so some of his fiddling must have done what he wanted it to.

He always forgot exactly how much better a shower could make him feel. Warm water soothing away the last of his headache, washing away, hopefully, some of the glitter and whatever else had happened last night. They should start trying to figure that out. As nice as it was to wake up with Arthur, not being able to remember the previous night unsettled him—

A crash came from the kitchen — shattering glass and a yelp.

"Arthur?" Jaime called, but he couldn't hear much over the rush of falling water. He shut off the shower. "Arthur? You okay?"

He heard raised voices, the words indistinct.  _ Voices. _ Not just Arthur's.

Jaime wrapped a towel around his waist and charged out, almost slipping on the bathroom tile, to find out who the hell else was in the house.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Gatorade is my preferred hangover cure - it works best if you have a little bit before bed, too. 
> 
> If you have suggestions for a JonCon ship, I want to hear them! 
> 
> & I'm on tumblr at: [peggycarterisacat](https://peggycarterisacat.tumblr.com/) for general fandom stuff, [peggycarterisacat-fic](https://peggycarterisacat-fic.tumblr.com/) for fic updates.


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